


Dawn in Cape Cod

by Mikazuki_Nika



Series: Nika's Banana Fish Oneshots [5]
Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-canon exploration, a new woman lives with them, august 12th guys, everything changes in august, griff being a big bro, griff feeling lost, griffin does not understand, her stomach is swollen in april?, his mom leaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikazuki_Nika/pseuds/Mikazuki_Nika
Summary: Her eyes are an electric emerald, so vivid and sharp and powerful, that he feels scared and trapped the first time he meets her. Then in August, a broken dawn sets the world aflame.Pre-canon exploration of the Callenreese family up to Aslan's first birthday.





	Dawn in Cape Cod

* * *

**Oneshot: Dawn in Cape Cod**

* * *

******Normal POV**

Griffin doesn't understand what is going on. All he knows is that she’s upstairs crying and they won't let him see her. 

A single luggage sits patiently by the door.

He eats lunch quietly, sitting at the round wooden table with its four rickety chairs. The spoon full of soup and the bread in his hand go down easily, and he thinks he could swallow  _ anything _ by mistake in the awkwardness of the situation, even one of those slimy frogs that like to hide in the grass near the house. The window next to him is open, and he can’t help but stare outside. This place, with the hills full of tall grass and the air full of sea salt, is the only world he’s ever known. The two trees near the house are vibrant mixtures of yellows, reds, and oranges, and he notes vaguely that if it weren't for them, he wouldn't even know it was October with this view...

His father doesn't speak to him. Doesn't look at him either. Not since  _ she  _ arrived.

The woman sits in their living room now. Griffin thinks her long blonde hair is pretty - it’s a pale, gold color - but it's her eyes that shock him the most. They’re green, but olive not like his own or his father’s. Her’s are an electric emerald, so vivid and sharp and powerful, that he feels scared and trapped the first time he meets her. But she's not pretty like his mother is. She’s a different kind of pretty. Griffin thinks she could be a model, if she wanted.  _ His  _ mother was the normal kind of pretty - the type you wouldn't notice until the lighting was just right. 

But instead of modeling, she’s  _ here.  _ Saying ridiculous things he doesn't understand. And there’s still a single luggage, the type that rolls on wheels, at the door.

Griffin loses his appetite, so he takes his bowl to the sink and washes it out. The screaming match upstairs tells him no one else is worried about these kind of things right now, but since he doesn't understand, there's nothing more he can do. The only places he can hide are this meager kitchen space and outside. They won't let him upstairs to his room. And he has a feeling that if he leaves outside now, he’ll miss something incredibly important.

He doesn't hear her come in, despite how intensely his vision has expanded to _ see everything  _ and how much his ears are straining to  _ hear everything _ .

“So you’re Griff?” She asks quietly, and he jumps.

She’s standing in the doorway with one forearm braced against the frame. Again, Griff can't help but be caught up in her beautiful eyes, even though they scare him.

“Well?” She prompts again impatiently, and it's all Griff can do to give her a slight nod, eyes wide. “Hmmm…”

Griffin does not understand.

They stay like that for a moment, staring at each other. Griff feels frozen, like if he moves even a single inch she'll bite, and she gazes back as if analyzing him. 

Then she turns around and walks off, disappearing into the corridor with sure footfalls, and the moment is broken.

Griff does not understand.

* * *

He still doesn't understand when his mom is clutching him close in a bone-crushing embrace, sobbing. Her words are swallowed up by her cries and he can't make sense of anything she’s saying, but he has a feeling he knows.

Everything feels far away.

“I love you so,  _ so much,  _ Griffin.” She says, and she presses a wobbly kiss to his forehead.

Griffin doesn't understand.

She stands up and takes a step back, her hand lingering on his head and hair as she pulls away. Then he watches her walk through the door, a single luggage case trailing behind her.

The wooden door swings shut, and he stares.

Griffin does not understand.

* * *

The next few months are suffocating. His father spends all his time with that woman, who lives with them now, and his mother hasn't come back even once. Griffin does them all a favor by staying out of the house and playing outside in the crisp autumn wind, but that escape route is blocked when snow hits the ground.

Christmas is a strange affair.

His father gives him a small set of toy war planes from the goods store down in the town. He’ll have to take good care of them.

The woman gives him a gift too, even though they don't talk much. It’s a set of mittens, and he's happy to have them since his own are already worn out. He thanks her, and she gives him a minor smile.

...He wonders if he hates her.

But between school and the running away, he hasn't even thought about it.

* * *

The snow lets up by the end of March, and soon enough his boots are squelching in mud instead of slush. The occasional flurry brings back the world of white once in a while, but it never lasts longer than a few days. Instead, the grassy hills he likes to walk through are flat and dead. Yellow hay instead of soft green. Recovering.

In April, the weather warms enough for rain, and he likes the orchestra of water it creates with the constant  _ shh-shhh  _ of the sea. It helps him sleep at night.

In April, things change.

In April, he notices that the woman's stomach is too large for her body now.

Griffin does not understand.

* * *

School sets him free of its clutches around the end of May and early June. There are flowers blooming on the sides of the roads now, and the first to arrive are those little yellow ones that almost look like daisies. He always forgets what they're called.

The woman’s stomach is truly swollen now. Walking is a chore for her, so he often has to drop what he's doing to get her something or other. He’s at her beck-and-call, and so is his father. 

Griffin doesn't understand.

Things aren't as awkward as they were before. He'd gotten used to this lifestyle, gotten used to this new woman and her quirks. Sometimes, we he stared up at the ceiling of his room at night and tried to sleep, he’d forget about his  _ real _ mom while making plans for the next day. It's only for a split second, and then he's crushed with guilt, but it makes him wonder…

When did he stop waiting for her to come home?

* * *

It all comes crashing down one hot night in mid-August. 

Panicked movement in the house jars him awake, and before he knows it, his father is throwing him out to call the doctor in from the town below the hill.

Both he and the doctor are still in their pajamas, but it doesn't stop them from waking two other women nearby and hopping into the doc’s car all together. One of the women is frantically rubbing the last bits of sleep from her eyes whilst the other is opening and closing a box full of medical tools, counting and recounting the things inside. The doctor looks simultaneously relaxed and stressed, like a cool guy Griffin once saw in a movie, and he speeds them up the hill to the Callenreese house.

The team heads inside and Griffin is forced to sit out on the porch. He’s fine with it, as he’d rather listen to the wind and the ocean tides than that woman’s groaning and moaning. But eventually, her voice escalates into screams that rip through the peacefulness of the night. He jumps every time she lets one out, sure that his eardrums will burst.

He hugs himself tightly against the wind’s early morning cold, and watches as the sky begins to change. The darkness seems to shrink back slightly from the horizon as blue begins to peek through. He likes how the black waters of the sea are gently dispelled too. The light is breaking the darkness over the sea’s horizon, chipping at it and shattering it little by little, piece by piece.

The screaming and groaning stops as the first pinks and purples and oranges leak into the sky. A new, muffled cry breaks the silence just as the sun begins to rise up out of the sea.

_ Dawn,  _ he thinks. The zenith of the sun’s arc now appears over the horizon, and the sea changes color. Griffin thinks it's beautiful.

The cry sounds again, and he's struck by the thought that it almost seems like the voice is coming through a radio speaker or something, because it sounds distant.

The door opens suddenly and one of the women steps out. The nervous one. “You can come in now,” she sighs, and Griffin stares.

She quickly disappears inside and he starts after her, scrambling for the door.

* * *

A baby.

It’s a baby.

Griffin doesn't understand, even though he saw this coming.  _ He’s  _ not a baby.

His father is stony-faced as usual, and it tells him nothing. The woman looks unconscious, pretty even with her pale blonde locks a total mess over the pillows. The doctor speaks to his father in quiet tones and once in a while, his father nods. On the other side of the room, the nervous woman from earlier is gathering up blood-stained sheets and walking out, and for a sickening moment he wonders if  _ she’s dead. _

The soft rise and fall of her chest tells him otherwise, and he breathes a sigh of relief if only because he wants to hold onto the familiarity of the reality he lives in now, despite not knowing how long it will last.

Orange light is beginning to fill the windows and paint the floorboards. He stands by the window, out of the way, and from here, the lighting makes it look like the ocean itself is on fire. For a moment, it scares him.

Griffin jumps when the calmer nurse opens the bedroom door abruptly and walks in with a bundle of blankets in her arm.

The baby.

By now the woman is awake, and she takes the bundle into her arms with a trembling sigh. It's the weakest he’s ever seen her. 

“Aslan.” She says, looking into the baby’s face.

His father asks what she means.

“It’s his name.” She says simply, eyes attempting to pull away from the infant’s face, but unable. “I’ve been thinking about a few different ones for a long time.” Her vivid green eyes finally look up to see the rest of the room, and Griffin almost recoils at the way they light up in the orange sunlight, the beams racing across her face.

“Aslan, Jade, Callenreese.” She says slowly, testing the name out on her tongue.

And in that dingy, dark bedroom with the creaky floorboards and the doctor giving his father his congratulations and the woman giving tired smiles to  _ his  _ father… Griffin suddenly remembers what those little yellow flowers are called.

_ Dandelions. They're weeds. _

* * *

In September, he starts going to school again. The past half of a month with the baby and the woman in that house have been tough. It’s not that he can help much with a newborn - he rarely sees the baby itself anyway jeez - but it's just that every moment spent away feels like another moment spent digging deeper into the gaping canyon that separates  _ him  _ from  _ them.  _ As a result, school makes him nervous. Could they possibly be glad when he’s not around?

At night he hears the baby wake with distant cries, and he has to remind himself that infants don't automatically know the difference between day and night. Wake and sleep. He pulls his covers closer to himself in those moments, thinking back to when this family had been  _ normal _ .

But it doesn't matter anymore.

* * *

In October, he suddenly feels like his mother might come home again after all.

_ It’s been a year.  _ He thinks.  _ A year is a good time to come back, right? _

In October, he spends a lot of time sitting out on the porch, watching the spot where the hill drops off into the horizon for a familiar head of hair popping up and coming his way. 

It never comes.

* * *

November brings the beginning of the bitter winter winds, but no snow.

His father started opening the diner and bar part time soon after the baby was born, and now at two months old, he believes it’s okay to go back to full time. They’re running out of money for the bills anyway -  _ that much  _ Griffin understands. When he’s at school, his father is working, and the woman is left to her own devices and the baby. Griffin prefers this arrangement much more than the previous one.

He breathes a little easier.

* * *

When the baby is six months, Griffin finds that he’s left alone with it much more often than before. It’s still only February, so there's still snow on the ground and it's still bitterly cold. 

So… where in the world does that woman run off to during the day?

Griffin assumes his father knows.

He’s left alone in the house with a little pudgy thing that can barely sit up and babble. His little hands and fingers are chubby and always reaching for things that shouldn't be touched - the ashtray on the table, the candlestick by the pictures, the wall outlet behind the sofa where Griffin can’t reach. It’s incredibly frustrating most of the time.

But… when he’s sleeping, a mess of footie pajamas and blankies all over the floor because Griffin always forgets to put him down for a nap at the proper times… he’s not that bad. 

Griffin just hates how he looks.

Lightened gold hair, thin and wispy but plentiful. Shining, vibrant green eyes. He looks just like the woman. Except for his nose. His nose, Griffin realizes, is his father’s. The baby also doesn't cut him with its stare. Instead of an intense, sharp gaze, he sees a bright-eyed look. He sees eyes that are eager to  _ see everything _ . It would almost be greedy, if it weren't so innocent.

Griffin gently pulls the baby’s hand away from his mouth to stop him from sucking on his thumb. Teething phase isn't fun.

_ Jeez. _

* * *

In April, things change again.

The woman is hardly ever home. When she is, she is arguing with his father. It reminds him of that fateful October when this all began. Or did it start sooner, when his father had met her…?

Griffin spends more and more time with Aslan now. At eight months, he can already say short, complete phrases and crawl at mach speeds. He even reaches for Griffin when he wants attention. Aslan is cute as a fluffy haired baby at eight months old, so he learns that he doesn't mind taking care of him as much as he used to. 

Griffin has learned a lot too.

He’s baby-proofed the first floor, where Aslan plays most when Griff is watching him. He knows just how much food Aslan eats, and how much he sleeps throughout the day. How stressful teething is and the fevers that come with it. When he has diarrhea because his poop is runnier than usual. And whenever Aslan bumps his head or bruises something, Griffin can distinguish between his “I-want-attention-for-my-booboo” and his “I-seriously-hurt-myself-help!” cries. The first can be fixed with the magical booboo kiss. The second usually calls for a stuffed animal and an ice pack.

Sometimes he wonders if the woman knows all these things. She forgets to turn on Aslan’s night light at the end of his crib when she puts him to sleep, even though Aslan cries without it. She sometimes brings home clothes that are a little too big, but he figures she’s just planning ahead.

It’s not that bad. He’s okay.  _ They're  _ okay.

* * *

By July, he understands that his world is going to change once more.

Aslan is 11 months now. Griff has taught him to walk at his father’s urging. Sometimes, he still stumbles, and other times, he plops down on his butt with a surprised expression on his face. Still a little clumsy, but he’s getting the hang of it.

Griff is a little proud.

But in July, he understands that the arguing is their default and the separation is their relief. Thankfully, the summer in Cape Cod is hot, so in those moments, when the arguing is too much for him and Aslan’s lips start to tremble, Griffin takes them both out of the house. Sometimes it's just the grass right outside. Others, it's the beach down below.

In those moments… he tries to keep Aslan close.

* * *

In early August, he sees a familiar scene. 

A single piece of luggage sits patiently by the door. Griffin doesn't know what or how to feel. But he has Aslan to worry about. The baby is almost a year old. He’ll have to buy those cookies he likes from the store in town to celebrate. Maybe a toy, if he has enough allowance.

So he feeds Aslan and takes him outside again, no longer afraid of missing something important.  _ Aslan  _ is more important than whatever version of “who can scream the loudest” the adults are playing inside the house. Griffin wonders if he should be annoyed or angry or something, but all he feels is the mild disappointment that comes with the confirmation of his earlier suspicions: that this fragile reality would not last long.

The screen door screeches in protest and slams shut with a rattle when she bursts through the door on her way out and storms down the porch steps, luggage trailing behind her. Griffin catches Aslan as he waddled by in his mini sneakers and scoops him up, setting him on his hip. The woman stops in front of them, letting out a conflicted sigh as though her previous anger was put out at the sight of them.

Again, she’s looking.

Griffin can't read the expression in her eyes, but they’re intense, as if he’s analyzing him again… like she did the first time they met. He doesn't move, but stares back, arms wrapped around Aslan safely.

She presses a kiss to Aslan’s forehead, her hand lingering in his hair for a moment as she pulls away. But then she presses another one to his own.

He blinks.

She gives them one last look, then squares her shoulders and walks off. He watches her form disappear over the place where the hill drops into the horizon, silent.

Griffin does not understand, and he thinks that he never will. 

But Aslan is by his side, and he knows that’s all he needs. Hopefully, the baby himself feels the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> I was really constipated with this one. Like... I knew what I wanted to write and I kept pushing and pushing but the words wouldn't come out lololol TT^TT
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think of this! Any kind of comment works :)


End file.
